(122-09-27) An Incident at Deepwood Motte
An Incident at Deepwood Motte
Summary: Lady Elena Glover is Caught trying to escape the Siege
Date: Date of play (27/09/122)
Related: http://gobmush.wikidot.com/plot:something-is-rotten-at-winterfell

The siege has lasted more than a year, with the inhabitants living from winter stores. It's been a good long Summer, though the Glovers have not had the good of the last year of it, and there are signs that the Summer may be ending. When it was just the Boltons and their banners there was hope still for the Glovers. Rumors of dissension amoung the Starks prolonged the resistance, but it turns out those rumors were false and the army Lord Cregan's brother and heir raised put down the raider fleet sacking the eastern shore after combining with Lord stark's men, and now the full might of Winterfell has turned against Deepwood Motte and hope is waning.

With stores at a low and the people of Deepwood sequestered behind their walls, desperation has set in. Its taken a few weeks of precarious planning, handpicking the men and trying to plan out when best to use the escape tunnel before such motions were put into place. Erena holds the small pack of items she most desperately needs against her back, feeling suddenly far less than she is and in the same breath more alive. Edgy and nervous, she moves to follow those who do so in the complete dark, hoping to use the shadows after being free of the tunnel to make their way to an ally waiting by boat for them. It will be a few days trek to be certain they are not found and with three armed men and two scouts to lead, the young woman is being sent to family to the South in hopes she may plead for aid.

The dank tunnel is navigated by touch alone, not wishing to draw attention by firelight. She ushers herself forward, feet eating the distance in a mind numbing quiet filled with breathing and footfalls.

The smell of fresh air awakens the senses and in the dead of night they find the exit, more than overgrown and unused as it is, it takes some doing for the men to remove and pull aside the barred gate that has supported the plant life like at trellis.

Two slip outwards, the others surrounding the Lady holding steady until they are given the all clear. Three hoots and they disembark, stepping out into the slightly foggy surroundings. She breathes in and out, keeping quiet and moving only when told. Now she is shaking a little, the hood of her cloak in black well over her features - dressed in something not at all ladylike for the express purpose of not hindering her movement. A pair of pants and a tunic are clasped tightly about her figure. She looks like a lanky lad for the time, tall enough to match the smallest of the men in height.
Dotting the mist are diffuse points of light: cooking fires, the occasional moving torch. This part of the enemy line is mostly Karstark and Manderlay Banners, recently freed up by the end of the Raider threat. More dangerous than the lights that warn what to avoid are sentries moving through the fog and sleeping men in bedrolls. The fog seems to dampen the soft sounds of horses shifting in the pickets, the growls of two hounds fighting over some entrails, and the occasional wisp of conversation between men.

No longer is she merely accompanied by the sounds of breathing and footfalls but the distant presence of the surrounding force. One man lifts his hand and they stall, waiting, listening and every second seems to send her a little further towards the edge as her heart begins to race and the adrenaline take her like she has never felt before. Erena goes still, not willing to be the one to draw attention. Whatever passes, they begin to move once more, booted feet collecting the next and moving on, she is ever in the midst of them. One scout ahead, the other falls behind to watch and warn when needed.

They begin the slow painstaking process of moving from bush, to tree, to some dark shadow so as not to draw attention. But they can only see as well as those also watching.

Carefully they thread their way. The welcome sight of the westward copse is visible over the mist, a promise of safety. It is a pen of geese, set well away from the sleepers that is the sorrow of the little party, geese being notorious for raising a ruckus when strangers are near and being so much less bribe able than watch dogs. Honking and hissing the feathered nemesis arc their necks and flap menacingly.

There are places of solace, sanctuary and each step draws them closer and away from the waiting lines of men in their tends or under the stars. The gathering of Glover aligned and their Lady move quickly, trying to span the distance and unsuspectingly finding a natural procurement of alarms. The avians start their honking and flapping and what was once a well executed movement in use of shadows is now a hurried flight. At first her arm is arrested and she is drug forward to increase her pace but the Lady is not weak willed especially with adrenaline hurdling through her veins. Her booted feet lift and with a sudden springing of nerves on end she flings herself forward and can match pace at least with several of the men. Silently swords are freed and their head scout is knocking is bow as he leads them forward, hoping to use their knowledge of the land to quickly outdistance the others. But it has been a year and a year gives time for the enemy to learn quite a lot.

The sounds of pursuit soon follow on the geese raising the alarm, but up ahead there is a subtle movement of shadow amoung the trees just visible to the sharp eyed through the fog, a hint that the assumed safety of the wood is not so safe.

Erena nearly misses it, noting the movement in their quick dash to get away from the alarm and yet so little time as to warn. She is ushered forward, the presence of the Glover men about her allowing her little tiem to speak or hasten them to notice. Besides, it could just be the dark playing tricks. She steps after, finding the sure footed spots that are given by their scout, quick and certain is he that has his bow at ready. They say nothing, attempting to keep from being found.

As the little party reaches the trees, bowmen step forth, wearing the devise of a very minor house of the South Eastern Hill country. The leader of the group a dark haired man in his early twenties with proper armour and a sword.

The dark haired man is shouting, "Halt!" but seeing the Glover men raise bows, yells, "Shoot!" Arrows fly through the air, missing half on each side and wounding half, the mist playing the devil with bow strings and aim.

Quiet is never truly quiet when one is flight. The rushing figures of the Glover contingent are outnumbered, well evenly numbered if Erena is counted amongst them. The scout is the first to draw and attempt to shoot before another arrow is sent to fly at the bowmen waiting in line. The four given the custody of the Lady move her about and attempt to circumvent, using one side as a guard with swords ready to slash. The arrows pierce flesh and several falter, one near the Lady and one arrow missing by a bare inch and catchings on of her cloak. She lets out a breath, unsteadily as she is pushed on. "Go! GO!"

The deadly sound of bow strings going taut as one of the scouts attempt to way force himself aside as a shield despite the arrow cleaved through his leg. The wisdom of one of the elder men beside the lady stills them forcibly and coming to an abrupt halt he touches her shoulder. "Sorry, lady," he says softly, barely heard before he lowers his sword and ndos to his comrade. "Yield? But we ask for passage for our ward!" He proclaims, standing between the men and the two others of his group. One the Lady herself.

The leader calls out, "Set aside your weapons! I'm Lord Brandon Ellyswood! Who is your Ward and passage to where?"

Keeping his station at the fore, the leader nods his head and weapons are slowly lowered so that they catch a brief shine of the night light. Still breathing heavily, Erena steps forward, or attempts to but the other Glover bannerman holds tightly to her shoulder. "We harbor and care for the Lady Erena Glover to be taken to safety away from this misfortune and siege. Allow us passage and you shall be rewarded." There is money to be had, kept to bribe if need be and far too soon.

Lord Bran bridles at this offer of a bribe, "I am a man of honor! How dare you offer coin!" He looks her over with a thoughtful expression, "Lord Stark and his brother are honorable men, and I do not think either would wish a lady harm. Where is it you wishto go exactly, and could you give your word not to do harm? If you are apt to be bringing reinforcements or stabbing my men, I really will have to take you to Lord Mandarlay." On stabbing his lip curls up, not in a way that suggests he is laughing at her, but rather as if he is remembering someone else fondly.

"I am only convey the Lady away, we do not question honor and we are not sent to undermine your beds," Erena stays back a step or two, watching them from beneath the shadow of her hood. "She is to arrive in Oldtown and find safety with relatives there." The slender figure hesitates and then steps forward slowly to give truth to the tale. Her head turns to look up at her guardian before slowly lifting her hands to the hood of her cloak and withdrawing it. The dark auburn of her hair woven into a tight plaiting to keep it from her face looks short in the dark.

Lord Bran tries to make eye contact with the Lady. He is not a tall man, but sturdily built. "My brother is among Lord Carolis' men. Are you sure you would not prefer to travel under the protection of the Starks? There would be no question then of your… seeking out trouble and would perhaps simplify negotiations for the castle's surrender. No help is coming and the longer you hold out, the worse it will go for your people when Winter comes. It is a long trip south and they do not know if they have caught all the Wildlings in the Rills. you'd be safer with a larger escort."

"Safer or more convenient for your attempts to win out against my father?" Erena says boldly, her voice not forsaking her. The voice is definitively feminine even if she is dressed not to look the part. "And if I agree…will I not be used to the advantage of the Starks even if I remain unharmed?" But the wildlings are something known to be fact and her guardian speaks up as well. "I was given care of the Lady, I can not allow for the Lady to find company other than that which I was ordered to give."

Lord Bran sighs, "You know I can not allow armed men to break free of the siege. I could see about getting her an escort to the coast if she gave her word, but I can not bend my orders further." The sound of pursuers from the camp draws closer. "If we fight, odds are it will delay you long enough that you'll be taken either way. I offer a way that less Northern blood is shed, but if your duty requires you to die here and now, rather than settle it reasonably, I understand. Either way she will be taken, either as a prisoner after a fight or as a guest."

The response is not what the man wants. "I can not let her go, she is my charge. If she is to find herself in Stark company so will I. Fighting does none of us any good," he says as Erena dips her head and stares at the ground, measuring her breath. "We will go, allow the men safety as well and I will go with you." Her fists find not dress to draw around and thus she takes hold of the edge of her cloak. Drawing a long breath, she does her best to straighten up slowly and hold herself in wary pride as she finally looks upon the Lord in full. "I remit myself and those in my company to your protection and safety, promise these men will be treated as I will and we will go with you."

Lord Bran bows respectfully, "I swear before the Old Gods that you and your men will not be further harmed unless they attempt harm against people on our side." His gaze is steady as he meets her eyes and he seems sincere enough. "I have met Lord Carolis, and truly, he does seem a good and honorable man, and Lord Stark has a great reputation for being everything a Stark and a warden in the North should be. We are all of the North and I would not wish you harm."

Adrenaline is still there but the flight is running ragged on her nerves and despite her best efforts her hands shake. Tightening her grip on the cloak about her she looks to the men with her, those injured as well. "Men of Glover, put down your arms. We shall take up the offering given and walk freely into camp. This is by my order," the last is said with a somewhat breathy tone upon looking at the given guardian of her group. "My Lord, I remand us to your custody. Let there be no more blood," she agrees with him and stepping forward crosses the distance as her men lower their swords before she dips her head to the Lord.

The Ellyswood heir bows again and offers her his hand just as the reinforcements arrive. There is a bustle as the wounded from both sides are carried off to the healers and Lord Bran's men are relieved by a new squad of ambushers. Or sentries. The Lady is treated gently enough and she and her men fed.

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